As Time Passes
by Quill and Saber
Summary: Read The News first! Uther is dead and Merlin is gone, but Camelot must continue. ArxGu and MexMo but with main emphasis on MoxAr friendship to begin with. Under MexMo for later chapters.
1. One

**Day One**

**(also entitled, in Which Morgana Does Not Know What to Do)  
**

I do not own the Arthurian legends, and I certainly don't own the TV show. Those belong to the public and to BBC, respectively.

You may be wondering why it took me so long to churn this one out. Considering how short the story is and how anachronistic the actual series is, I've done a ton of looking up online and in my college library to try to make it fit into something resembling a working context. If you have any questions about things that seem just plain weird, I'd be happy to share my research. I'm trying to place this in the political landscape of the early to mid 900s (you'll see some historical figures if I can get that far before I burn out my resources) but with the technology of the Renaissance; I assume that if a universe has magic to make things easier (_cough_NOBLACKPLAGUE_cough_LESSCHURCHINFLUENCE_cough_) technology and society in general (particularly pertaining to gender and racial inequality) would develop a lot more quickly. The good news is that I'm done with the majority of my research and thus stuff should be flowing pretty well after this monstrosity of a oneshot.

* * *

"My Lady…"

What was making that sound?

"My Lady…"

Perhaps she was being called by someone? Her neck felt funny…odd.

"Lady Morgana…"

"Hmm? What?" Morgana finally managed to pry her eyes open. She could blearily tell that she was in her chambers—at her table, in fact. How had she managed to fall asleep at her table? Why was she at her table at all? A quick look at her less-than-satisfactory "pillow" provided the answer. The book, the pendant—Merlin. Now she was fully awake, and her eyes darted towards the speaker.

"My Lady, I am sorry, but your guardian is dead." Gwen stood solemnly next to the table. "Arthur asked that I come and get you as soon as possible; he wants to speak with you alone."

_Ah, so it is come_. Morgana squelched her initial desire to laugh with relief as she blinked the last of sleep from her eyes. "Very well, then." She stood slowly, being sure to surreptitiously close the book and unclasp the pendant, palming the jewelry loosely in her hand.

"You already have your white slippers on and I know you have a white kirtle for winter…ah, here it is." Gwen held the garment in readiness while Morgana slipped off her nightgown to leave herself in her shift; she had not taken off her shoes or stockings from the day before, and she was grateful for the extra warmth. They had practiced the winter dressing routine for years, and they now had the timing perfectly down to the point where Morgana was not without a dress for more than two seconds. Morgana sighed as the white samite slid into place over her hips and down to the floor, adjusting the shoulders and sleeves while Guinevere worked on the laces.

"What was that book? I've never seen you fall asleep reading a book before."

"Agriculture during the reign of House Pellinor."

"Ah," Gwen said hurriedly as she laced up the back of the dress. _Dear Gwen_, Morgana thought, _city girl at heart_. It was just as well that she had been stopped right there; she really had no idea about farms and plows and other farmer paraphernalia other than that they existed, and she had no idea how she was going to continue that statement had Gwen asked questions.

"Hair time." Gwen nudged her over towards the mirror. "Do you remember if you have a white ribbon? I can pin it in a fillet if it's long and thin enough."

Morgana slipped the pendant into the skirt folds on her lap and fumbled through her ribbon box as Gwen started pinning Morgana's hair in a suitably somber knot. "How is Arthur taking the news?" she finally asked as she passed the appropriate ribbon to her maid.

"I don't really know," she replied grimly. "He happened to see me walk past the room he was in, and he asked me to get you. I don't think he slept at all last night. But I know what it is like to lose a father." She paused in her pinning. "Not that you don't know either, my Lady. I meant that my father died when I was older as well, not that your own father's death when you were young makes it less significant—"

"Gwen, please. It's all right. I know what you meant. Uther's death will affect us all, some more than others."

Morgana saw Gwen's nodding head in the mirror as she returned to work on Morgana's hair in uncomfortable quiet. This routine was normally accompanied with chatter or companionable silence. Today it seemed as if some weighty topic—better not try to conceal it, Uther's death—were hanging between them, waiting to be spoken of but entirely unapproachable.

"My Lady, I am sorry about your guardian," Gwen finally said, pursing her lips. Morgana knew from many, many years of experience that Gwen made that face when she did not like something—be it having to clean a filthy banquet hall floor or having to say something she did not wish to say. Morgana cursed the rules of social nicety that demanded appropriate behavior in times like this.

"Gwen, I do not expect you to pretend that you are saddened by Uther's death."

Instead of meeting Morgana's pale gaze in the mirror, Gwen busied herself with the box of hairpins as she pinned the ribbon into her hair. "My own feelings are not as important as your grief, which I intend to respect."

"That man threatened me with death more than once for protecting the life of an innocent child. You came closer to the fires than I ever did; how can I expect you to summon grief for a man who has done you nothing but wrong when I, who was in one of the best positions to love him, cannot?"

She owed Gwen, her oldest and dearest friend who would never betray her, the truth. Even though Uther had given her a pony when she was ten, the little bouquet of daisies for the earliest birthday she could remember, the worry he had when she had been kidnapped and when she had been "kidnapped," she could not forget that he tried to strangle her in a fit of rage and even had held the threat of death over her head for the last year and a half. He provoked magic into becoming his enemy; it was fitting that he would die by it.

"As you say, my Lady." Gwen patted the last pin into place, covering the ends of the ribbon with dark wavy locks. "If you think you'll be warm enough, he's in the King—I mean, the former King's study."

"Thank you." Morgana hurried past her maid, dropping the magical pendant down the neckline of her gown as she rushed towards Uther's old chambers.

As Morgana made her way across the castle, she saw almost nothing of other people. The few servants she passed were somber-faced with black bands tied around their arms, and they each offered their condolences for her guardian's death. She wanted to scream that Uther's death was the best thing to happen to Camelot since the water system beneath it, but she held her tongue and kept her gaze on the floor. No one ought to speak ill of the dead even if they were terrible in life, even if she wanted to scream for joy. It was not done.

She could hear loud, indistinct voices even before she turned the corner to see Uther's study door ajar. Deciding that discretion was the better part of etiquette, she slipped through the door as noiselessly as she could. True to Gwen's word, Arthur was there, standing at a table across from Uther's long-time aide Sir Leon. They did not even acknowledge her as they were too caught up in what appeared to be a long, tiring, frustrating argument.

"Your Majesty…"

Arthur slammed a fist on the wooden surface of the table. "Sir Leon, you can be sure that I am in my right mind and am not sick from grief. My father's edict against magic—it is annulled. Burn the copies of it."

"For what reason? To simply annul the law—"

"Here," Arthur grabbed a quill pen and piece of parchment from Uther's writing desk and scribbled furiously for a few minutes. Morgana did not know he could write that quickly; he was nearly tearing the parchment with the ferocity of his movements. Finally, he slammed down the pen so hard she could hear it snap, took the candle and practically splashed out the melted wax, and stamped his ring on it. After a few seconds, Arthur turned to her and the knight. "Is this sufficient? 'Annulled on grounds of instatement by personal bias and on disservice to the people.' It is instated two hours ago. Have copies distributed among the outlying villages."

"Y-yes, sire." Sir Leon made a dash for the hastily-written edict and was out of the room in mere seconds.

The room was eerily silent once the door had closed. Arthur stood statue-still by the old wooden table, hands resting on a chair back as he pointedly stared at the blank wall before him. Morgana wanted to approach him, pat him on the back, offer him some kind of reassurance. As it was, she was fighting the urge to break down in tears and laughter or some combination of the two. Arthur not king for a whole day, and he repeals the law she feared and hated with every ounce of her being. All those plans from last night were entirely unnecessary. She wouldn't have needed the gifts. Merlin wouldn't have had to leave.

"You weren't there, Morgana." He was talking so quietly that she almost didn't hear him interrupt her silent cataloging, and she had to take a silent step forward to make sure she wouldn't miss anything else he said. "You didn't see him. One simple spell would have fixed everything, and he repeatedly refused to allow people to go seek out a druid or hedgewitch who could have done it. Not that I think anyone would have come even if he had allowed it; the reward for saving my father's life would have likely been a private execution instead of a public one."

Morgana still held her tongue. There was nothing to be said, really; Arthur said everything that she had guessed.

"I watched my father die," Arthur's voice was getting hoarse, "I watched him kill himself with pride and anger."

"I am sorry," Morgana said in a low tone. It was all she trusted her voice to say.

"Are you?" he whispered. "Are you really?" She could see tiny tremors shaking his shoulders almost imperceptibly.

"Yes," she stepped towards him, close enough to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Uther was a terrible king. You will be better. But I am sorry for the loss of your father." She hoped that would be enough. She could honestly say she was sorry her dear friend and almost-brother had lost his father, but beyond that she could muster no sympathy, and Arthur ought to know it. Her job right now was to deal with a king on the verge of sobbing, and she really had no idea what to do.

Perhaps this poison ought to be bled out. "You are allowed to cry."

She halfway expected him to protest, say that he wasn't crying and never would. But as prideful as Arthur was, he seemed to realize that protecting his pride around her was like trying to keep the tide from coming in.

"No man is worth tears." His voice was soft but firm as he decisively shook his head. "Not even a king."

"I did not say he was worth tears." Uther wasn't worth manure, but she wouldn't say that. "I said that you are allowed to shed them. You have wasted things before, and this at least may bring you some comfort."

Arthur was shaking his head back and forth as the trembling did not stop. She could have sworn she saw glistening on his eyelashes, but she said nothing and did not move from her position. It wasn't helping, she was out of ideas, she didn't know what to do...

"Lord Ladunet requests an audience," a guard said formally, poking his head in the door.

"Send him in," Arthur said, his voice not betraying the fact he had been fighting tears less than a minute ago. Morgana remembered from the one time she'd ever seen him cry before this (when he was seven or so he'd broken his arm quite nastily slipping down the castle steps after a rainstorm, and Gaius had to set it) that he had received some gift from the Heavens so that his eyes did not get puffy and his nose stayed its proper color after he had teared up. Maybe it was because he had skin that didn't try to compete with milk for whiteness.

Lord Ladunet was by far one of the most obnoxious and ostentatious members of the court as well as Morgana's least favorite, and his entrance did not disappoint her expectations. He was dressed in resplendent black that she was sure violated several sumptuary laws (the only laws Uther almost never enforced on the point that they were "a damned nuisance" to identify), and his polished leather boots made so much noise on the stone floor that she wondered whether he would have had them designed to do that.

Morgana didn't want to spend a single second longer than she had to in the Lord's presence (and didn't want to be around Arthur while he was fighting himself) and curtsied to leave, but Lord Ladunet stopped her. "Please remain. This affects you as well." He turned abruptly away from her to face Arthur.

"Your Majesty, you should wed my Lady without delay."

There was absolute silence in the room. Morgana was blinking so quickly and frequently that the Lord's motions seemed to be a series of paintings. _Sudden_ would have been an understatement.

"You know that his Majesty your Father intended her for you. She is uniquely suited for filling the role of your Queen."

Morgana looked over at Arthur. He was slack-jawed, and his arms were shaking once again. It did not look like the grief earlier, though.

"What if," Arthur said at last, "my interests lay elsewhere?"

"Your Majesty's activities need not be limited by the bounds of law and marriage. If there is one you desire, that person could still be yours as you wish it, especially once the succession is secured."

Morgana hardly had time to be indignant that the Lord was suggesting that Arthur take a mistress _in front of the person he was suggesting Arthur marry_ before Arthur made a dash for a decorative urn and emptied the contents of his stomach into the basin. Lord Ladunet, in what was surely a burst of wisdom and insight for him, took that as his cue to leave.

Morgana was a warrior's daughter, and she had a strong stomach and wasn't afraid of anything. At least, that was what she was trying to tell herself. But seeing her foster-brother get so sick for something so little was shocking. So she simply froze in place. She was getting good at just standing there when important things were happening; it was a good thing to do when she had no idea what she was _supposed_ to do. She was also very good at saying the first thing that popped into her head when she was in a panic.

"I think you just made a rather convincing show that you could not stomach the plan the Council of Lords has made."

"Do you think?" He winced and shakily leaned against the wall. "Is there some water in this room?"

That was something she could do. Morgana ran to fill a cup from the ewer next to the door and brought it back to the shaking King. Once he cleaned out his mouth, he teetered out of the King's study in the direction of his own rooms. Morgana slipped out after him, whispering to one of the guards on duty to find a servant other than Gwen or Merlin to clean up the mess.

When she finally caught up with Arthur, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his clasped hands with a thoroughly disgusted look on his face. He barely acknowledged her as she came inside and gently closed the heavy door.

Arthur waited a few moments before speaking. "I like to believe that my father was faithful to my mother and her memory. Excepting Catrina, I like to think that he has shared a bed with no other woman. I want to think he always loved her and only her. Lord Ladunet's words came so easily that it is difficult to continue to believe that. Even so, I cannot believe that anyone could mention my marriage vows and plans to break them in practically the same breath."

Well, they at least agreed on something. However, she was still entirely out of her depth. Comfort was required, and she was very poor at giving it. "Do you want me to get Gwen?"

He shook his head vehemently. "Guinevere does not need to see me like this."

"And I do?"

"I don't care if you see me when I am weak. I don't think you could think much less of me anyways."

"You could be the kind of King your father was," Morgana replied bluntly, "and I would hate you even more than I hated him. I love the Arthur who is sickened at perpetuating wrong in the world. " She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You have been as good as a brother to me since the death of my father."

"I once told Guinevere that I had never loved another," he whispered as if he hadn't heard a thing she had said.

Morgana stayed silent at his confession. Of course she had not missed that her foster-brother and her maid were head-over-heels with each other; if Gwen had not the fantastic ability to blush at the mere mention of him (well, except the one period with Vivian, but one had to suspend the rules when enchantment was involved), Arthur was about as good at being subtle about his emotions as Merlin was (had been) good at carrying pieces of armor without dropping them. But still, she did not quite expect him to tell her outright. Perhaps he only did so because she was the one other person (probably Merlin too, but Merlin wasn't still here, was he?) who thought that Arthur would be lucky to get someone as good as Gwen and not the other way around.

"I don't believe I ever will love another. But I looked up the laws—so many. The wife of the King must be titled in her own right, be the daughter of a landowner. Guinevere's pedigree is as ordinary as they come, and her father did not even own the forge he worked. If I were to even propose to her, she would be guilty of acting beyond her station and would be sentenced to exile. I cannot do that to her. But I will have no other. I would rather cut off my arm and eat it than marry you, no offense. And you are the most tolerable option that is supposedly available."

"Well, that is good, as I'd far rather die a maiden than marry you," Morgana said, trying to find some of her normal humor. "And I can assure you I'd flee to Eire if you married Vivian."

"I have already gotten sick _once_, Morgana. I do not wish to repeat the experience."

"The only experience you need right now is sleep." Morgana looked critically at her foster-brother for the first time this hectic day. Gwen had been right; he did look as if he hadn't slept all night. Moreover, he was still in his bloodstained clothing from yesterday's accident, which she now noticed were fairly vile-smelling. "Here—tell me where your things are and I'll help you get into bed. No one will begrudge you sleep."

"That's Merlin's job," he said automatically before pausing. "Come to think of it, where is he?"

"Probably off sleeping, like you ought to have done," Morgana answered briskly as she went to get the bucket of water Arthur always kept in his room. She hoped Arthur hadn't seen the flash of sadness and worry cross her face before she could school her expression. No matter where Merlin was—he could be still under the castle or in Rome, for all she knew—she had nonetheless promised to cover for him as long as she could, even though there was no need to do so. "Off with your shirt so I can get that filth off of you."

"I can wash myself," he protested.

"Not like this you can't. And as you won't let me get Gwen who I'm sure would be ten times better at this, you're stuck with me. I give you my word on this—you _will_ sleep, and you will not do so until you are reasonably clean."

He sighed as he slid off his tunic and threw it across the room into what was probably a laundry basket but looked like a small mountain. Morgana took that as her cue of him acquiescing and grabbed a cloth. She mentally hissed at the initial winter-coldness of the water. She suspected the only reason it had remained liquid at all was because of its relative proximity to a chimney. She pursed her lips to try to think of a solution to the problem. It was then that she remembered one of the last things she had read in the book—spells of fire and warmth. Morgana narrowed her eyes at the water as she tried to think of the words for the warmth spell as well as remember if it had been a spell for warmth alone and without fire.

The new feeling washed over her hand so quickly that it felt like many tiny needles were pricking her skin, causing her to drop the cloth back in the bucket. It was all she could do to quell the panic that threatened to flood her body.

"Something wrong?" Arthur asked, looking tired, embarrassed, and impatient all at once.

"Just a splinter. It surprised me; that's all." She managed to keep her voice level, though by what miracle or magic she didn't know. Wiser this time, she used her other hand to reach into the now warm water and grab the cloth.

She worked efficiently to spare both Arthur and her embarrassment and to reduce the chance Arthur would figure out that warm water in a bucket in winter was a luxury beyond what even modern convenience could provide. As it was, he seemed too tired and grief-stricken to register much of the grime or the removal thereof. Morgana grimaced knowing that he couldn't get truly clean without a real bath with soap, but the water at least would get most of the blood and dirt off of his visible skin, and he wouldn't feel so incredibly vile when he woke.

Once she finished, Arthur was quite obviously close to collapsing right where he was, and though she had warmed the water she had not managed to keep _him_ warm as well. What would Gwen do in this situation? What would _Merlin_ do in this situation? Merlin would probably leave Arthur alone as soon as possible, let him have time to grieve once he was too tired to keep up the tough exterior. Thankfully, a nightshirt was lying folded on the pillows; Merlin probably set it up the night before he left. She picked up the shirt and pressed it into his hands. She hoped he had the presence of mind to put it on without assistance.

"Sleep well, my sovereign," she whispered before planting a kiss on the top of his sandy (and smelly) locks. "You'll need every second of it."

His only reply was something between a grunt and a sigh as Morgana fled the room towards her own chambers. Once she locked the familiar door of her bedroom behind her, she allowed herself to feel the terror. How close she had been to using magic publicly…but it was legal now. She wouldn't get killed for using it anymore. But what did she do? She didn't even really think a spell, and yet it happened. She was in way, way over her head.

_Merlin, I need you more than ever now. Why did you have to leave? Why did you have to leave_ me_ with this mess?_

_

* * *

_I'm just gonna get this one out of the way because I know a lot of people will want to know this: before Queen Victoria turned ever mourning custom on its head, it was customary for women in the marriage market to _not_ wear full black while in mourning. The highest level of mourning in medieval times was actually all _white_. Historically, this was used only by queens (there's a famous portrait of Mary, Queen of Scots, in white mourning garb) and women in certain parts of Hungary, but because Morgana is the highest-ranking female in Camelot I felt it would be the appropriate color.


	2. Nine

**Day Nine**

**(otherwise entitled, In Which Morgana Gains an Ally)**

I do not own the Arthurian legends, and I certainly don't own the TV show. Those belong to the public and to BBC, respectively.

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Morgana sighed as she trudged back to her room. All of these debates—no use hiding it—arguments about Arthur's reforms were taking a toll on her even though the court had been fully functional only since the day of Uther's funeral, which had been four days ago. She'd skip out on the meetings altogether if she had a choice, but Arthur insisted that, if he had to listen to the blustering idiots, she should too. He also showed no shyness about using his royal summoning privileges if she didn't come nicely when asked. That very morning, in fact, he'd even had her dragged out of her room before Gwen had arrived to discuss the Very Important Matter of whether turning a neighbor's chicken green was an act of criminal magical vandalism or just a joke. Debate was delayed until it was seen whether the chicken in question's laying and eating habits were still consistent with that of a normal chicken, though Morgana believed that it would end up being delayed until it was seen whether the chicken in question still tasted like a normal chicken. Whenever it was, Morgana hoped she would never again be caught before dawn and forced to dress and groom herself. Her hairpins were poking into her scalp dreadfully, and she was sure that the laces on the back of her white gown were crooked (she was already getting sick of white, and she would have to wear it for the better part of two seasons).

At least the Merlin investigation was making absolutely terrible progress, which was about the only good thing in the last week and a half. It hadn't taken them long to discover that Merlin was really and truly missing; by dinnertime of the first day of Arthur's reign it was confirmed beyond doubt. She'd been superficially questioned by one of Arthur's lieutenants and grilled by Arthur himself. _Merlin should have thought about my reputation as the one who knows all the secrets all the time_, she thought irritably as she opened her door. _No one expects me to know absolutely nothing, least of all Arthur_.

Morgana made a beeline for the vanity, walking quickly past Gwen, who was busying herself with the things that had been left out on the table last night. "Gwen, can you help straighten my laces?" Morgana said as she started plucking the pins out as quickly as she could. "I had to do them myself this morning and I re—"

Morgana stopped short. She stopped because she noticed that Gwen had stopped short and had fallen absolutely still in the mirror. Gwen wasn't a still creature by nature; she would always know or see or think of something very terrible to make her freeze like that. Something truly terrible.

Morgana knew with a sinking feeling exactly what Gwen was looking at, just as she knew with a sinking feeling that she really needed to get into the habit of putting secret things away _right_ away instead of planning on doing it the next morning when certain kings could summon you away at any moment and therefore risk having secret things seen. And if one were making a list of things that Morgana knew with sinking feelings, one would have to add that she knew there was no way she could avoid discussing this matter with the one person who she actually did have to see every day.

Just as she thought she couldn't feel any more sunken, Gwen spoke. "How long have you had this?"

Morgana's eyes were fixed on the mirror, looking at Gwen's reflection instead of directly at her back. "A little more than a week."

"Before or after Uther died?" Gwen turned to look around and met Morgana's gaze in the mirror, her dark eyes seeming to burn through the glass until Morgana couldn't take it anymore.

"Just before. A matter of hours before." Morgana stared at her hands, her pins, anything but Gwen's reflected, unreadable eyes. "It was a gift."

Gwen jumped back several feet. "A gift? My Lady, how do you know it's safe to keep this book? There might be a curse on it. Oh, and you've already had it for several days—"

Morgana turned around and sighed. "Gwen, it's only a book with spells _written in it_. Merlin would never give me a cursed book."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Why couldn't she have said she found it in the back of the library and was curious? Why couldn't she have simply not said from where she got it? Why couldn't she have just refused to talk about it at all? But Gwen was her dearest friend, of course. Gwen would rather die than betray her. At least, that's what Morgana kept telling herself, hoping that it was true.

Gwen was the first to speak. "Merlin gave you the book?"

"Yes." Gwen wasn't stupid, Morgana knew, and the maid would very quickly figure out everything there was to know (except the Dragon part; that very admittedly came out of nowhere). _Gwen is one of Merlin's best friends_, Morgana reminded herself sternly. _She's not going to use this information against him. It wouldn't occur to her._

"Merlin's a warlock." It was not a question.

"Yes."

"And he gave this to _you_. And you've been reading it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He knew I believed magic could be a force for good." Morgana really, truly hated telling Gwen half-truths, but she hated breaking promises more. "He thought that once I understood it I could persuade Arthur to think the same way."

"Arthur's proclamation…but that was too soon after the death. You couldn't have played a part in that."

Morgana smiled wryly. "Arthur, miraculously, managed to find a couple of scraps of courage and sense on his own to issue it. Pity his motivation was that his father would have been cured had the magic ban not have been in place."

"Do you think Merlin ran out of fear Arthur would find out about the magic? If Merlin could cure the King and didn't lift a finger…"

"Quite possibly." That theory did make sense, but it gave her a sickening feeling in her stomach. If Merlin was indirectly responsible for Uther's death, he might be accused of regicide. With his disappearance alone he might be accused of regicide. The chances of him coming back were miniscule if Merlin had any sense in him, and Morgana prayed (for his sake) that he did. People would be lining up to wait for him to enter the city in order to catch a man who left the castle shortly after the death of the former King. They were already scouring the countryside for him. And even if Merlin were cleared of possible involvement in Uther's death (she doubted he would be _officially_ cleared, though Morgana would do all in her power—except tell the truth— to prove Merlin's innocence), Arthur loved Merlin like a brother, though he'd never admit it. Arthur would want him back.

"You know I won't tell a soul about Merlin, my Lady."

Morgana didn't have time to feel relieved at Gwen's statement, because the wheels in her head had finally ground to a halt, and she hated the conclusion she'd just come to. "They're going to be looking for him for a very long time," she said, more to herself than to Gwen. "They're not going to stop looking for him. They're not going to stop just because no one knows anything."

"You're right." Gwen grimaced. "What can I do to help?"

"What? Gwen, you don't have to do anything." She wanted to add that what they were doing was potentially dangerous, but one look at Gwen's face told her that the maid, like Morgana herself, would not take no for an answer.

"My Lady, I have to do _something_, even if it's just to keep saying that I don't know anything about Merlin. Though I don't know how long they'd believe it."

And there they got to the sticking point. Morgana had spent considerable time over the last week thinking about why Merlin had chosen _her_, of all people, to be the last citizen of Camelot to see him. Granted, their conversation at the time had been vital, but that only explained why he talked to her and not why he talked _only_ to her that night. In fact, the most logical person for Merlin to go to would be Gwen.

"What's your position on lying to the authorities?" Morgana asked slowly.

"I wouldn't have offered to help if I minded."

"Eventually people will think that you're trying to cover for him if you feign ignorance on your best friend's activities, even if you didn't know anything." Morgana wracked her brains, searching for a story that would seem plausible for Camelot's Worst Servant of the Year. "Tell them…tell them that he came to your house just before he left the city, around two o'clock. He told you that with Arthur becoming King his job was done, and he was determined to leave Camelot. You were half-asleep through the whole thing and didn't remember anything more specific than that and, most importantly, you didn't think to ask him where he was going. It's such a blur to you that you barely remember it at all, so you can be excused if your story doesn't always line up perfectly."

Gwen nodded solemnly. "I believe I can do that."

"I don't want you to do something you feel truly uncomfortable with," Morgana said earnestly. "I'm asking this as your friend, not as your mistress. You don't have to do it if you think it would put you in danger."

"Merlin was willing to trade his life for mine, once," Gwen said stubbornly, "and I'm guessing he's also responsible for giving me those months with my father after he should have died. The least I can do is tell a little lie to give him more time."

"Thank you, Gwen," Morgana clasped Gwen's hands gratefully. "And…and should the truth get out, I did ask you to tell this lie. I was afraid for my reputation."

Gwen shook her head. "Don't worry about me, my Lady, worry about yourself. Magic may be legal, but there won't be a few who take kindly to you learning it."

"I know," Morgana said under her breath. "I know that quite well."

Gwen's eyes flew open in her trademark just-realized-she-misspoke expression when the door burst open.

"Morgana, the chicken laid a green egg, and now they've found a green sow and billy-goat too. Farmer Samuel's demanding another audience, and you've got to be there."

Morgana rolled her eyes for effect and hoped Arthur couldn't tell just how fast her heart was pounding. "Of course. Far be it from me to force the King to endure discussions on laws regarding colored livestock."

"You saw that man this morning; it's not funny," Arthur insisted, looking ever so slightly put out. "At least he's mildly afraid of you when you talk, and Lord knows that might be the only way to get him to shut up about how no one will want to buy a green egg or green pork."

"I know, I know. I'll come. Gwen, don't fetch luncheon for me; I won't be back by then." Morgana walked straight out the door, pulling Arthur with her so he wouldn't have a moment to speak to Gwen. If he was going to pull her to meetings about chickens at all hours then she was going to limit his access to a Particular Person.

"What was that tome on your table? I never knew you to be one for steady reading."

_Damn. Damn and blast_. She hurried her footsteps as they continued towards the audience chamber.

She wracked her brains for the simplest explanation she could come up with. "I'm not. Pages and pages of plows and types of barley make me fall asleep at night."

"All those potions Gaius made for you failed, but a book works?" Arthur sounded incredulous. "That sounds rather miraculous."

"It works," she said shortly as she turned a corner. But she couldn't help but bring her hand to her breast where the pendant lay beneath her dress.

_You're on the right track, Arthur, but there's more magic than miracle in this world._ And with that she resigned herself to many hours of tedium, wishing there were miracle or magic to get her out of this meeting.

* * *

Dr Seuss is now IN.

Next one is about two weeks farther down the road in story-time; I'll see if I can get it done then by real-time.

Note: I originally thought about trying to do Uther's funeral as the second chapter, but that would have been a lot of Morgana standing around wishing she could be anywhere else. I may go back and see what I can do with it, though, now that I've added something else happening on that day (namely, that Merlin is discovered missing). If that happens, it will go in between Day One and Day Nine in chapter order; I'll make a note in the story summary so my gentle readers may know.


	3. Twenty Two

**Day Twenty-Two**

**(otherwise entitled, In Which Morgana Has a Very Busy Afternoon)**

_I normally wait to give author's notes at the end, and that's where the real stuff will be, but I'd like to put this out there right now. This chapter was written mainly in two sections because some very difficult personal issues—namely, an old friend of mine murdering his fiancée, who I knew a little—cropped up to wreck my life for a week. Anyways, this chapter is really rough and entirely unbetaed, so if you've got revision suggestions I'm totally open to them._

_

* * *

_

Morgana was grinning in a childlike manner at her handiwork on the hearth. Three days of constant, sooty practice (for which she'd forgone her mourning whites in favor of a plain dark red dress that Gwen had scrounged up for her) had led to this moment with lovely results. She almost wanted to reach out and touch the little sprites dancing in front of the fire, but as she didn't know whether these particular creations of flame could still burn her or not, she decided to play it safe. She wondered if Merlin had ever knelt by a fireplace and tried to make little tongues of flame dance without wood or wick like she was doing. It was certainly pointless enough for him.

As she continued to marvel at her work, someone knocked on the door twice. Two knocks was one of Gwen's knocks; it meant she was alone. Three knocks meant someone was with her and any magic that might or might not be in progress inside needed to cease or be hidden immediately.

"Come in," Morgana called over her shoulder as she directed the three little flame-figures into a line and danced them across the length of the hearth. "Gwen, you won't believe—"

"My Lady, you're wanted in the King's office immediately. The Dragon has escaped."

Morgana ended the spell abruptly, sending the flames back into the fire. _Escaped, not missing, she said_, Morgana thought to herself, _and they didn't mention Merlin. Gods above, he might manage to get away with the whole thing after all. _"How soon is 'immediately?'"

"I don't think he's going to allow you time to thoroughly wash up and change clothing," Gwen pursed her lips. "I suppose you snagged one of your sleeves on that white gown, and I'm sewing it back on for you."

"Thank you, Gwen. _Lafiaþ_!" Morgana said fervently as she quickly cast a spell to clean most of the soot off her face and dress. That particular spell was one of her favorites (and Gwen's absolute favorite, as she was the one who did Morgana's laundry), though Morgana never managed to get anything absolutely clean using it—hence the clothes that she could actually afford to destroy with soot and dirt and magical accidents.

"I promise that I'll be back in time to dress for the reception if I have to walk out in the middle of one of Arthur's monologues," Morgana said.

"There's no need for that, My Lady. I can only imagine the difficulties it would cause Arthur for his Sister to walk out while he was talking." Her words were serious, but Morgana could swear that Gwen was trying to hold back laughter.

"It's because I'm the Royal Sister that I should do precisely that. Someone needs to show him blatant disrespect at regular intervals. It keeps him humble." Her title as King's Sister was a minor miracle of statecraft, a major miracle if one considered that it was Arthur who was responsible for it. There was no precedent for the title, but Arthur finally managed to convince enough of the Lords that Uther had always treated Morgana as a daughter and that Arthur wished only to continue his father's work. Morgana privately thought that the Lords weren't convinced but were so annoyed at Arthur's persistence they eventually gave in, but she was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. A King can never be forced to marry his Sister, and only a King may command his Sister to marry, which was Arthur's and her primary reasoning to push for the measure.

It took her about three minutes to get to Arthur's office rather than her usual five. She almost always dawdled to keep Arthur from thinking too much of himself, but an escaped Dragon was a very serious matter, especially if she officially had no idea how it escaped. Come to think of it, she didn't actually know how it had escaped except that Merlin had almost certainly helped (she had to say _almost_ because there was the slight chance that the Dragon had eaten him before he could do anything, though she rather hoped that wasn't the case). At least here was a situation in which she didn't have to pretend she knew nothing. Her ignorance would, for once, be genuine.

Arthur and Sir Leon alone were in the study along with a man who smelled terribly of sheep. The shepherd (as she guessed him to be) was clutching a worn woolen hat that looked like it had seen far better days and was wearing what were obviously work clothes. He had come straight from his work, she surmised, and hadn't stopped to put on his best clothes or wash his hands before coming to see the King. The shepherd obviously thought this was a dire threat to the safety of the realm. Hopefully Arthur wouldn't.

Sir Leon and the man both bowed as she entered, but Arthur's eyes seemed to bug out and take in her casual dress. _It's good to shock him once in a while too_, she reasoned to herself, _and hopefully he'll learn to stop calling me two minutes before he wants me unless it really is an emergency._ Holding her head as high as she would were she in regal regalia, she stalked over towards Arthur's desk and "her" chair.

"What are you wearing?" he hissed quietly as soon as she did the ritual sisterly kiss on the cheek that they both hated but the Council had determined was the appropriate ceremonial greeting for the King for her position, and it was a small price to pay for not having people talking about their marriage half the time.

"My whites needed to be mended," she hissed back. "You called for me to come immediately, so I came. Be grateful I have clothes on."

"As long as you're properly attired for the reception," he muttered under his breath as she took a seat to his right. Raising his head to look at the shepherd, he spoke clearly. "Good sir, if you would please repeat what you have seen now that everyone is here."

"We went in with the sheep like every first of the month, me and me eldest boy. When we get in there, we see…" the man gulped. "We see this huge, heavy chain with a manacle on it, lying on the floor like a stocking. It weren't there last month, or the month before that. There weren't no blood or sound or anything, so I came to you straightaway to tell you."

"Have you ever seen the Dragon while delivering its meals?"

"No, your Majesty. I never even saw the chain until this morning. All I did is take in the five sheep at the beginning of the month, and when I come again the next month they was gone."

"So there was absolutely no evidence that the Dragon was there until this morning when you saw the chain."

"That's what I said, your Majesty. That is," the shepherd corrected hastily, "exactly as you said, your Majesty."

Arthur sat quietly for a few minutes while everyone else in the room stewed with tension. Finally, the King turned to his aide.

"Sir Leon, inform the proper people that the Dragon is no more." Arthur turned to the shepherd. "Thank you for your promptness in delivering the message. Go to the kitchen to get a good meal. We will continue your contract though a dead Dragon no longer needs feeding."

"The Dragon dead, your Majesty? Wouldn't there be a corpse?" the man blurted out.

Arthur turned slowly to face the shepherd. Uther might have had a hand cut off for speaking out of turn, and that would be on a day he was in a good mood, but Arthur was far more kindly. "Dragons are made entirely of magic. When they die, they simply disappear. You may leave now."

"Thank you, sire." The man bowed hastily and left, taking with him most of the sheep-stench; a few whiffs still hung in the air, seemingly just to bother her. _You can't get rid of the smell of sheep_, Morgana thought with disgust. _Why'd we have to see him in _here_ instead of somewhere where the smell wouldn't stay until summer?_ She was so wrapped up trying to remember if she'd read a spell that would vanquish bad smells that she was startled by voices breaking into her thoughts.

"Continue the contract, your Majesty?"

"The last thing we need is a shepherd panicking over how he's going to be able to feed his family when he is privy to information that is best kept quiet. And Leon," Arthur walked past the knight out the door, "don't send out the proclamations just yet. We have a dragon cave to inspect."

"Wouldn't this be more of Gaius's expertise?" Morgana pointed out, having to jog to keep up with the two far longer-legged men. No matter how she saw the scenario playing out, it would be better if Gaius were there. Gaius was far from stupid, and she was sure that if there was some kind of clue specific enough to tie the Dragon's disappearance to Merlin, Gaius would stay quiet on the matter. Gaius had been willing to lie for Merlin in the past. Sir Leon would say what he saw exactly as he saw it.

"The stairs down to the cave are steep and long, and Gaius isn't getting any younger. If there's something that he needs to see we'll bring him down later. We don't have time for much more than a quick look as _someone_ needs to change clothes." Arthur threw a glare at her over his shoulder.

"This wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't called me in the first place," she huffed. "It's not like you needed me to listen to that man."

"I need you now, though. You sometimes see things others miss."

Morgana shut up as they passed a squad of servants setting up for the reception, but spoke up once she could hear no footsteps but their own. "You were lying to the farmer about the Dragon dying, weren't you?"

"Father took me with him when the last Dragon but one was killed; I was just old enough to remember it. They do disappear when they die, but the catch is that they don't just _die_. They have to be killed, and killing a Dragon isn't easy even when it's cornered and can't get in the air. So either someone snuck down there to kill a helpless Dragon or the Dragon managed to get its leg out of the manacle," Arthur said as they rushed down the stairs leading to the uncharacteristically-empty dungeon. "I don't know which one I hope it is, because we either have a Dragon on the loose or we have someone who had the means and motive to kill a Dragon on the loose."

"Or this may turn out that the shepherd just saw a puddle of water that leaked down from the latest thaw," Sir Leon said practically as he grabbed a torch and passed a second to Arthur. "We cannot know until we see it."

A labyrinthine passage, a flight of stairs, a moldy hallway (that smelled worse than sheep), and two more flights of stairs finally led the small group down to the Dragon's cavern.

The cavern itself was very, very large and very, very cold, even for February. Though it was underground it seemed to have its own winds which only served to enhance the chill that permeated her skin right to her bones. Morgana silently wished she could warm up the immediate vicinity, but there was no way she could hide a spell like that with Arthur around and in his right mind. At least the air down here was mercifully sheep-free considering how the only two kinds of living creatures who had been down here for any length of time were sheep and a Dragon, and she didn't know what Dragons smelled like. Well, and one human, though she was probably the only person who knew about that.

"Looks like your theory is false, Leon. I can see it at the bottom." Arthur gestured grandly to a hard-gleaming ring and chain lying slack on the ground.

The trio made their way down the steep, rough steps. Morgana decided at once she hated those steps and felt sorry that Merlin had to climb down them at least once, or so she presumed. She wondered if she could instinctively develop a spell to stop falling while in the act. It might save her life if she could, but she'd far rather not put it to the test. Morgana made a mental note to look through her book and see if there was a recorded incantation for hovering; it was the ultimately safer route.

"No tracks in the dust this way," Arthur called from the front of the line, "and there's always a guard posted by the other entrance. Looks like it was Dragon alone."

Morgana would have sighed with relief were she not afraid the motion would make her slip and fall twenty feet (or fewer if she could figure out the spell, but she'd rather not chance failing and dying, or worse, succeeding and having to explain). As it was, she carefully toed her way after Leon and allowed herself the sigh at the joint relief of making it to the bottom alive and Merlin's luck or wisdom, whichever it was that eliminated the tracks.

"It hasn't been opened," Morgana said immediately as she saw the metal ring up close for the first time. _If this is the size of its ankle, _she thought with a shudder_, I'd hate to see the actual beast._

"That means it's dead or it found some way to take off the chain."

"Why would it die? You just said that they have to be killed, and it doubt it would all of a sudden kill itself," Morgana pointed out. "Besides, how could it kill itself?"

"True, but it's also very unlikely that it took off the cuff without damaging it whatsoever. What do you think, Leon?"

Sir Leon got a nervous expression on his face, his eyes darting back and forth between Arthur and Morgana. "If my Lady will pardon me for the indelicacy—"

"I will," Morgana interrupted.

Sir Leon coughed politely, and Morgana would have sworn that, though it was difficult to see in the torchlight, that the knight was blushing. "It just occurred to me that a lizard which loses its leg will regrow it. Could not a Dragon…ah, _remove_ its own limb in desperation, knowing it would grow back?"

"That makes…sense," Morgana said slowly as she looked to Arthur, who was nodding pensively. She couldn't imagine being desperate enough to even cut off her hair to free herself from bondage, and cutting hair didn't hurt. She hoped she never got in such dire straits to have to make that kind of decision. She also hoped that limb removal wasn't Merlin's plan for helping the Dragon escape, because she was fairly sure any creature would want to kill something that amputated its foot, regrowth or no regrowth.

"It's strange that the Dragon would leave _now_." Arthur walked around the manacle, crouching to peer at its unblemished circumference, then walking around it again. "If it could have bitten its own foot off, why didn't it do it earlier?"

"Uther would have sent out people to search for it and hang the chance that it would cause national panic. I don't know how it could know that, though," Morgana added. _You know nothing. This is entirely new to you, and while you're pointing out the fact that will reveal some sort of external involvement, not saying it would be more suspicious._ "It hasn't left this cave for nearly twenty years."

"They're creatures of magic and prophecy. Who knows what they know?" Sir Leon responded with a shrug. "It may have sensed the mood of the castle and decided it was time."

"Right. I think we've gotten all we'll find here," Arthur said finally. "No word of this is to leak out to anybody until the reception and talks are over and we can come up with an official explanation. Leon, go make sure the shepherd and his son know that we are depending on their discretion for the time being even if it means keeping them in the castle for the next two days by whatever pretense you can come up with." Arthur's aide bowed respectfully before hurrying up the steps at a rate that made Morgana hold her breath in fear for his life.

Once the knight was gone, Morgana glanced sidelong her foster-brother. His expression was still that of a man deep in thought, though now it was that of a man who had thoughts he didn't like. "Your skill at dissembling has improved, you know. You're acting as if this is no worse than a mouse on the loose."

Arthur's left hand shot for her shoulder, forcing her with a bruising grip to face him, the mask of thought fallen to reveal something bordering on panic. "Of course it's worse than how I'm acting! But if I were to make a fuss about it I'd cause unnecessary uproar, and that's the last thing we need. I haven't been King for a month yet, and there are more than enough people already who doubt I can do the job." He sighed and released her shoulder. "I'm sorry. For now we'll have to place hope in the fact that the Dragon hasn't done anything yet and therefore probably never will."

"You're doing an excellent job," she said soothingly, resisting the temptation to rub the sore muscle on her arm and make Arthur feel guilty. "Now is the time to worry about the reception and the Druids."

"You're right. Druids. And you need to change." Arthur evidently hadn't forgotten her state of dress in his distress.

"Lead the way, then, my King," she said, resigned to having to climb those steps one more (and hopefully last) time.

It didn't take nearly as long to climb up the stairs and go through the passages as it did to go down them, and for that Morgana was grateful. After parting from Arthur at the dungeon entrance, Morgana raced back to her room at a speed that would have made her old governess wring her hands and wail. Gwen, bless her, was waiting with every layer, every accessory laid out on the bed with a bowl of water (still warm) and soap on the vanity for washing.

"How much time do we have?" Morgana asked as Gwen's nimble fingers started attacking her laces.

"Thirty minutes at most." The laces undone, Gwen slid the rough wool off Morgana's shoulders. "Wash your face and hands; I'll get the gown and surcoat ready."

For the full thirty minutes, the room was in well-organized frenzy as Morgana dressed and had hair and cosmetics done. Once she was finished, she allowed herself a fifteen-second look in the mirror. Her "newly-mended" dress looked lovely with the new white surcoat she'd had commissioned; if one was limited to one color for six months, one needed something to create the illusion of variety for one's sanity. Gwen had pinned up her hair expertly and had attached the organza veil over it flawlessly. Morgana had an interesting relationship with that veil. As per proper mourning she had to wear it for formal public occasions, and thus she hated it. But the veil had been invaluable at the funeral when she had to pretend to cry; no one could see the lack of tears behind the fabric. Today it would be invaluable because she would be meeting with representatives of a people she had gravely wronged their people in the past, and she didn't quite trust her face to not betray any emotions that might or might not crop up.

Druids.

Officially, the only magic-users that were still alive were the Druids—admitting that the art was still practiced within Camelot itself would be to admit law enforcement was less than perfect—so with the ban repealed and no one within the City to help define malicious magic from harmless, it was naturally the Druids the Council had wanted to see. Finding them in the first place turned out to be incredibly difficult. Only when Arthur set out completely unarmed and unaccompanied (to the great displeasure of the Council) to wander in the forest for two days were they even located. Getting them to agree to send representatives to Camelot was even more difficult, though Arthur did manage that as well. But the representatives themselves would be a surprise; the Druids did not say who they would send as messengers, only that they would be arriving this day as the Camelot bells tolled three in the afternoon. Would they send Alglain? Mordred? One of the few others at the camp that she had met? _No_, she thought, a knot of strange, terrible emotion forming in her belly, _they wouldn't have been allowed to live. They would have been killed without ceremony as speedily as the army could dispose of them_.

All that was left to do was to wait and hope that whoever it was wouldn't be or do anything that would make her reveal her secrets.

_

* * *

Ding dong ding dong, ding dong ding dong, ding dong ding dong, ding dong ding dong. DONG. DONG. DONG._

It was three o'clock, colder than freezing, and no sign of Druids as Morgana, Arthur, and Sir Leon waited just inside the castle doors.

Morgana whispered. "What's the chance they bluffed you just to satisfy you at the moment?"

"They'll come," Arthur replied with conviction. "They're Druids. They don't lie. The messengers might have been slowed by the snow melts. Druids they might be, but they're still human."

"I still doubt that Druids can't get around the difficulties of ground travel," Morgana grumbled, wrapping her old fur stole (thank the Gods it was white!) more tightly around her shoulders.

Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'll be sure to clarify that point in the talks. Magic can't do everything."

At that point the heavy castle door creaked open, allowing a blast of frigid air to force its way in to hit Morgana in the face. The guard on the other side looked both anxious and excited—or as excited as a person could be with a cold-stiffened face and cherry-red nose. "Your Majesties, Sir Knight, they're here."

"Told you," Arthur smirked as he led the trio out onto the front steps.

Down in the courtyard stood two people, one tall and one short, wearing long hooded cloaks against the cold. They were as still as trees, and if it weren't for the wind playing with the corners of the cloaks she would have thought they were statues. She stared at the Druids; they stared back. No one moved for a very long moment until four pale hands reached up to push back hoods.

As the two Druids lowered their hoods, Morgana was relieved to see that she recognized neither the girl with the bramble-brown curls nor the raven-sleek young man. Both of the representatives looked very young considering their purpose in Camelot—the girl looked to be no more than fifteen, and the man looked to be about Arthur's age—but then again, the Druids probably sent people who volunteered and would not be of too great a loss should things turn out badly. They were a good people overall, but that didn't mean they thought that everyone in the world was like them.

"We welcome you to Camelot," Sir Leon's voice boomed throughout the courtyard, "and those whom you represent."

"We accept your welcome on behalf of our people," the raven-man replied, also raising his voice to echo against the stone walls.

It was as if those words had been a summoning incantation. Immediately after the exchange, Morgana noticed well-dressed men, the Council members, skulking out of their own warm cubbyholes onto the steps to form what she could only call a reception line with her and Arthur approximately in the middle.

"Why didn't you tell me about this part?" Morgana schooled her expression into one of haughtiness, but inside she was seething. "I thought we were just going to go inside."

"You know as well as I do that you would have gotten a sudden cold if you knew you had to be out here for more than the initial greeting," he muttered back, his lips barely moving. "You've got to stop being a baby about these things."

"Hmph."

More than anything else in the world, Morgana hated just standing and waiting. Correction: Morgana hated just standing and waiting in the _cold_. She hated not being able to do anything, she hated not being able to cast the warmth spell that she knew like she knew her name, she hated that she couldn't reach up to adjust her veil so that loose thread would stop tickling her right beneath her ear because that would make her hands cold, she hated that she couldn't wear gloves or mittens because there hadn't been time to commission a white set, she hated that she had to wear white at all because she would swear that it was the coldest color, she hated—

Arthur elbowed her hard in the side. "Incoming."

The first Druid, the man, was walking towards her. Schooling her features, Morgana managed a half-smile as the Druid bowed deeply before her. "I am Faolan, my Lady. For you I bear greetings from my kinsman Mordred, who is now travelling to Eire."

"Mordred?" Morgana could not hide her surprise and joy. The boy had lived—what a miracle! And here she had been thinking not half an hour ago that he had to be dead. "He is well?"

"Quite well. He would have liked to come in my stead had the Elders allowed it, though he would have most likely been too enthralled by 'his' Lady's beauty to carry out his duty." Faolan's eyes twinkled.

"You exaggerate most cruelly," she replied modestly, "on both my charms' extent and Mordred's focus."

"Perhaps I exaggerate the latter, but the former stands true. What Mordred told us of you painted a pretty portrait, but the original puts it to shame." Faolan smiled genuinely at her, though only half was offered in friendship. The other half was a grin she knew well—that of a male who was very, very pleased with what he saw. She was glad to have the cause to wear the veil, for she did not know what she would have preferred him to think of her face if he saw it entirely uncovered.

Morgana bowed her head. "Then instead you are too kind."

"We Druids do not lie. Nor do I think any kindness spoken about you could be based in falsehood."

_A silver tongue such as yours will go far in the Council even if you are bold_, Morgana thought as the young man moved on to speak with Arthur.

The girl came next, curtseying deeply and neatly as if she'd been doing it all her life.

"My Lady," she said, her voice pitched low and sweet.

"Welcome to Camelot." Morgana extended a hand to signal that the Druidess was allowed to stand upright. "What is your name?"

"I am called Brigid. Your generosity to our people is genuinely appreciated."

Morgana stifled the urge to wince. Her personal form of generosity to the Druids had been a Camelot-grade assault on one of their camps. "The wisdom of our King belies his years," she replied neutrally.

"And yet the wisdom of those closest to him will have much influence on the future of the realm and the wider world," Brigid insisted gently. "You have not led him astray thus far, and I cannot believe you would ever do so willingly. May you counsel our King wisely until the end of your days." She took Morgana's freezing hands in her pleasantly warm ones and squeezed lightly.

There was something in Brigid's hand.

Morgana felt her eyes widen as the Druidess pulled back her hands, leaving the small, soft object in Morgana's palm. She opened her mouth to ask about it, but Brigid shook her head almost imperceptibly. "He left us yesterday, you know. I think he would have liked to stay, but he needed to go abroad and learn more. There's only so much one can learn from a people long persecuted when one has great gifts." And with that, Brigid moved on to present herself before Arthur.

* * *

Morgana was practically hopping with anticipation by the time she managed to withdraw to her rooms to prepare for dinner, half from the knowledge that she'd be able to _finally _warm herself up and half from wanting to know what was in her hand. She didn't dare look at it when anyone else was around, not even Gwen. But now she was entirely alone—well, at least for the next three or so minutes before Gwen came in to adjust the veil to allow for eating.

With a glance towards the table candle she had enough light by which to see. Settling down on the chair and looking over her shoulder once, twice, she finally opened her palm.

Inside was a balled-up scrap of finely-woven cloth, well-worn and well-loved if she were any judge. Curious—why would someone send her a piece of cloth? Perhaps there was something in it. Delicately so as not to crush any fragile kind of cargo, she opened up the fabric to reveal not an item, but some kind of writing. The handwriting was sharp, thin, nearly illegible over the weave of the fabric, and incredibly similar to some margin notes in her book of magic. The note itself was short and simple:

_Just heard the news. Congratulations, King's sister. May you have good health and fair fortune always. Your most humble servant, M._

* * *

I fully admit that the part about Dragons dying was in some way intended to spite the Merlin writers. The Dragon is dead, says Merlin, and everyone is celebrating despite the fact _there is no corpse or other evidence that the Dragon is even wounded_. I was also very surprised to find out that there were lizards in Great Britain at the time I'm trying to fit this (square peg in round hole, square peg in round hole), but there are apparently a couple species. Learn something new every day.

Oh, and I tried on the spell for genuine Old English; it's supposed to be the plural imperative of _lafian_, which means to wash or to bathe, referring to both Morgana's body and her clothes. If it turns out that _lafian_ is a strong verb…oh well. Not like most of you care if I conjugate Old English verbs correctly. And speaking of English, I'm holding a contest for whoever can tell me which British television mystery series I referenced (as in I tried to quote, but my memory may be slightly faulty) in the study scene. As a hint, the series is based on a series of mystery novels. The prize will be an early look at one of the last (but most important) chapters in this series of one-shots.


	4. My Most Sincere Apologies

It gives me no pleasure to inform you, gentle reader, that any updates to _As Time Passes_ will have to go on hold for some time. I am very ill with mononucleosis to the point where I cannot sit up without assistance or support. I know not how long this will last, but your reviews will give me comfort and keep _As Time Passes _in the forefront of my mind (as my ability to think is quite limited when my mind is fevered).

On the subject of reviews, I'm a little disheartened by the low reviews to alerts ratio. I realize you are busy, but each chapter does not disappear immediately after reading. It is perfectly possible to return to the chapter and leave a review at a later date. I know of a lot of writers have a review quota—that is, that is, require X number of reviews before posting the next chapter. I believe this is unfair to those gentle readers who actually _do_ review. Instead, I'm going to put up a _review incentive_. If after this date you review any chapter, I will send you an email with the complete set of reference maps I've done, which includes (but is not limited to) a political map of Albion based on both the series and reasonable history. You're totally free to use the maps so long as you make no profit on them (which I doubt is possible). When you review (assuming you want the maps), tell me whether you want the maps in .gif or .xcf (GIMP) format.


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